Matrix Chronicles
by Omega Ravon
Summary: Set before Neo is the One. When I saw Reloaded, I liked the Keymaker to much, I decided to make a story just for him. It will be awhile before he actually comes into play, so hang in there. PG13 for violence, intense situations, some language.


Matrix Chronicles

Book I

Chapter I

A cycle in the Matrix started over again, as it did every 24 hours, starting when the sky emulation program caused the emulated sun to rise, banishing the emulated night until the evening. The emulated weather patterns called for that particular morning in that particular city to be bright and warm. Everyone who had woken up early enough to check their email before work were doing so while eating, brushing their teeth, or straightening their ties.

The workday started normally for everybody in American Softel, inc., one of the most respected software companies in the world. The owner of American Softel was a Mr. Rockwell, who had somehow appeared back in 1967 with a hell of a lot of money; enough to start a computer software company before computers were popular, blazing the path for future companies like IBM, MicroSoft, and Xerox.

The employees were like the employees of any computer software company. They were, basically, geeks. Twenty- to fifty-year-old geeks who knew more about computers and programming than most people could hope to. They were the best of the best, envied by all. That difference aside, the employees of American Softel didn't seem human. Every car fit perfectly into the lot, everyone wore the exact same shirt, tie, slacks, and shoes (everyone suspected that they wore the same socks, too, but nobody had ever had the chance to check). Those that wore glasses even wore the exact same frames. Nobody was sure why the people who worked at American Softel seemed like they had walked out of "The Stepford Husbands," but they made everybody very nervous.

The programs that watched over and continually updated and reprogrammed the Matrix knew this. It was their design. Mr. Rockwell was not a human. He was a program, just like them. He had the idea to make the Humans write Code, allowing the other programs to go about other tasks. Rockwell was given the permission to adjust the people that worked for him, feeding them knowledge the way the Rebels uploaded instruction programs into their brains. Everything about this company was perfect. Except one thing; one new development: American Softel was falling desperately behind in their Code quota. Every computer software company helped write more and more Code to add to the Matrix, unknowingly, of course. To them, they were writing computer games, databases, updating spreadsheets.

How a company like this could fall behind was beyond the comprehension of the Machines. They were the best equipped to do the job, and could take over when MicroSoft or another company could not make the quota. The most massive software company built in the Matrix was not producing a quarter of the Code it should have been. It was time to do something about it.

* * *

The Agent programs had been assembled. Three of them, Agents Johnson, Brown, and Thompson had been dispatched. The easiest way to approach the problem was to take over people in the office and confront Rockwell, see what was going on. However, The programs that watched over the Matrix only allowed the Agents to take over other people when they were in combat, chasing down Rebels. It was not permitted to take over a human's body for a few minutes if not completely necessary.

This was not a necessary time. The Agents, therefore, went to the American Softel the way the humans traveled in the 20th century: By car.

There were four parking spots open in the lot, reserved for police business. Agent Thompson, the driver, pulled perfectly into the parking space, killed the engine, got out. In a perfect, equilateral triangle, the Agents walked up to the front of the building, Agent Brown leading them.

They pushed the doors open and passed through, not falling out of step for a moment. They reached the reception desk, and the attractive young woman sitting there eyed them warily as they approached her.

"We're here to see Mr. Rockwell," Agent Brown said flatly.

"He is expecting us," continued Agent Thompson.

The woman nodded and pressed the intercom button on her headset. "Mr. Rockwell? There are some people here to see you."

Mr. Rockwell's voice crackled through the line. "I know. Send them up."

Before the secretary could even tell the men that they were cleared to go up, they nodded to her and walked down the corridor to the elevator. Brown hit the button by the cool steel doors and they waited precisely fifteen seconds before the bell sounded and the doors slid open. Once they were inside, still in a perfect equilateral triangle, Brown pressed the button for the highest floor.

* * *

Rockwell waited in his office. He knew it was only a matter of time before the "powers-that-be" sent Agents to investigate him. That was why he had ordered his workers to move even faster. He had to be able to go independent as soon as they realized what he was doing.

A light on his desk told him that the elevator was at the top floor. They would only be a minute or two. He nodded to the two men standing beside the door. They were identical in every respect, down to the pale color of their faces and their silver-white clothes. Even their pale white dreadlocks were the same.

They merely smiled and flicked out identical butterfly knives.

* * *

Brown, Thompson, and Johnson came to Mr. Rockwell's office. With a simple motion of his hands, Brown ordered the other two to stand exactly where they were. They halted, stood at military ease, their hands clasped behind their backs. In unison, the Agents looked up at the camera positioned above the door. There was an electronic _buzz_ and the lock disengaged. Brown turned the knob and stepped inside.

"Ah," said Rockwell as one of the twins closed the door. "Agent... Brown is it?"

The Agent simply stood, his feet a "natural" distance apart, his arms at his sides. He spoke flatly. "Names are unimportant. You know why I am here."

"Of course," replied Rockwell.

Agent Brown didn't move a centimeter. "The quota."

Rockwell scratched his chin, said nothing.

Brown decided to speak. "Explain how the largest Code-producing company in the Matrix can fall grossly behind in its quota."

"I'm not falling behind on the Code quota," replied Rockwell. "I'm simply not making as much Code for _you_."

Brown indicated his confusion with a slight turn of his head. "Explain."

Rockwell spread his hands apart. "I'm making Code..." he brought them in, fingertips touching the lapels of his blazer, "for _me_."

Agent Brown straightened, lifted his hand to touch his earpiece. Before he could activate his link with the other Agents, he felt something cold penetrate into his neck, severing his spinal column between the third and fourth vertebrae. He twitched and fell to the floor.

Matrix code flashed across the Agent's dead body and it reverted to its original form: that of an elderly vagrant.

Rockwell smiled and leaned back in his chair.

* * *

Agents Johnson and Thompson released the lock they held on their wrists and looked at each other, then the door. Johnson took two steps forward, then launched a powerful kick into the doorknob. It instantly gave and the two Agents stepped inside. They looked down at the body of the human that Agent Brown had inhabited.

In unison they raised their gaze to Rockwell. They didn't see the ghostly, immaterial forms of the twins slide up through the floor behind them. Six-inch blades were thrust into their spines, killing them instantly.

Rockwell pressed the intercom switch on his desk. "Seal off the building. No one in or out. We're doing it now."

***

On the street outside of American Softel, three people --one was taking a jog, another was walking his dog, the last was sketching a particular tree in the park across the street-- stopped what they were doing and convulsed. Matrix Code scrolled down their bodies as they transformed into Agents Brown, Johnson, and Thompson. They converged at the center of the street and looked at one another.

"What happened?" asked Johnson.

"Rockwell has gone rogue," Brown said.

"We must deal with him," said Thompson. They all looked at the entrance. Two specters passed through the glass doors, materialized just beyond the threshold.

"The assassins," intoned Agent Johnson.

All three of them, in perfect unison, drew their guns and began to fire at the twins, who smiled maliciously and dematerialized. The bullets from the Agents' guns passed harmlessly through them, impacting on the American Softel building. It was not long before the Agents were out of bullets and the twins rematerialized. Their faces still sported disturbing smiles.

The Agents looked at each other, not knowing what to do. They had never encountered these programs before, and had no idea what their fighting capability was. Brown looked up to the top of the building, touched his earpiece.

His body twisted, became the middle-aged jogger, then snapped back. He was unable to complete the takeover of his target within the American Softel building. Thompson and Johnson narrowed their eyes and looked up at the building.

"He has closed the building off," Brown said, looking back at the doors.

"We are unable to take over the humans inside?" asked Johnson.

"No," said Thompson. "Rockwell is very intelligent."

The twins glanced at each other, gave one last smile to the Agents, and passed back through the doors. An alarm was activated in the Agents' minds and they looked at each other.

"Run," Brown intoned, and they did. They went down the street as fast as they could, a wall of scrolling, green Code extending from the American Softel building. As it passed over cars, people, trees, and ground, Code was visible for a moment before flickering and vanishing.

It was only meters behind the Agents, and quickly gained ground. A black Cadillac roared toward the Agents, hit them all, then continued on its speeding course down the road. Brown was launched ahead, sent sprawling in a heap several hundred feet away. Johnson, who was running only a step behind him and to his left was thrown in a similar trajectory, but Thompson, who was two steps behind and to the right of Brown had been directly in the car's path. He went over the car's hood, rolled to a stop several meters behind it.

The curtain of Code overtook the Agent just as he tried to stand and run again. He was frozen in mid-stride, an electronic scream coming from his throat. His Code was captured and removed.

Meanwhile, Brown and Johnson met back up in the middle of the road, still running. The alarm that was screeching through their minds suddenly ceased. The wall had stopped a quarter-mile from the American Softel building. All of the Code had been removed, but none seemed to have been rewritten yet.

Three shocked civilians suddenly stopped gawking and became the dark-suited Agents Jones, Jackson, and Smith. They walked over to the remaining two.

"What happened?" asked Agent Smith.

"Rockwell has turned rogue," replied Brown.

"He's taken over that section," said Johnson.

"And is planning to rewrite it," Brown continued.

Jackson looked at the wall. "That was why he was not meeting his quota."

Brown touched his earpiece, looked around. "We have lost one of our numbers."

"Thompson was overtaken," said Johnson.

"How?" asked Smith.

"We were attacked by a vehicle," replied Johnson.

Brown looked back at the wall. "He was unable to clear himself before he was cut."

Johnson looked back to Jones and Jackson. "Do you have information on Rockwell's assassins?"

Jones nodded once. "They were programmed by him to guard his building from the Rebels."

"He disobeyed the parameters," Jackson continued.

"And they are able to shift their code to become immaterial," finished Jones.

"They will be difficult to fight," said Smith.

"The programmers are preparing a strategy in case we are forced into a confrontation," Jackson said.

"But it should be avoided unless absolutely necessary," Jones advised.

Johnson and Brown nodded. Simply to test a theory, the latter Agent approached the wall and placed his fingers inside, up to his knuckles. They turned to Code, and vanished. He looked at his hand, sans four fingers, and noted that there was no blood coming from the wound. In fact, it was not a wound, at all. The scrolling Code was visible on his knuckles, where his fingers would have been. The other Agents looked at him, and he took over the body of a frightened bystander, hiding behind his car.

Brown stood up and returned to the others.

"Are you satisfied?" asked Smith, a slight sarcastic tone registering in his voice.

The man that Brown had taken over outside the American Softel building was now screaming, looking at his fingerless right hand. Smith frowned and grabbed the man by the shirt, threw him into the wall.

"We must find a way to get past the barrier," Jones said.

Brown nodded. "And a cover must be made."

"It has already been arranged," said Smith. "Return to the Complex."

The Agents placed their hands on their earpieces and relinquished control of their host bodies. A moment later, a massive nuclear explosion, centered in the closest building to the wall, vaporized the city.


End file.
